


And Maybe We'll Be Fine

by predominantly_normal



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Class Differences, Comedy, Coming of Age, Everyone's got trauma, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28689348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predominantly_normal/pseuds/predominantly_normal
Summary: [Onesided Varian/Cassandra][Onesided Cassandra/Rapunzel][Rapunzel/Eugene]When a science scholarship gives Varian the opportunity to attend a prestigious private school, he's quickly swept away by the parties and the prestige that comes with being amongst the elite. Not to mention the thrill of being in a friend group that makes him feel like he actually belongs for once.But Varian's new friends aren't as perfect as they seem.And with the pressure quickly building, it's only a matter of time before someone explodes.
Relationships: Cassandra/Rapunzel (Disney: Tangled), Cassandra/Varian (Disney: Tangled), Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	And Maybe We'll Be Fine

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this Modern!AU idea for literally two years. That is all. 
> 
> Content Warnings for: Mild Language, Mild Homophobic Language, Mild Sexual Innuendo

For a moment, Varian can’t even breathe—let alone form any words. The huge brutish guy in front of him (whose name is apparently “Otter” from the letterman he’s wearing) grabs the collar of Varian’s t-shirt and yanks him forward so hard, he gags.

A small audience of students have stopped to circle around them. They don’t even try to hide the fact that they’re recording the entire shitshow from their phones.

 _Great!_ Varian thinks bitterly. _Not even halfway through my first day, and I’m already going to be the main event on a half-dozen Snapchat stories._

“Well?” Otter snarls. He’s so close, his disgusting spittle hits Varian’s cheek as he talks. “Are you going to answer me?”

Varian stammers, “L-look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m—I’m new here, and I had to look at my map, so I didn’t see you-,”

Otter groans. “God, I hate freshmen.”

“That’s uh—well, I’m a sophomore, actually,” Varian corrects him.

The grip on Varian’s shirt tightens. “Did I ask you?”

“Um, well, technically, no-,”

“Oh my _God,_ Michael, are you done yet? We’re going to be late for class.” A girl in the crowd steps forward. Otter momentarily loosens his grip on Varian’s collar, allowing Varian a glimpse at his savior.

She’s slender and pale, and her piercing eyes are the color of coal. A curl of dyed red hair falls in front of her face. She’s not at all physically imposing like Otter is, but she seems to command the attention of the entire hallway regardless.

Otter rolls his eyes. “Just go without me, Delilah. I’m busy.”

“Don’t you even know who that kid is?” the girl asks.

“Should I care?” Otter shoots back.

“His name is Varian. He’s apparently some kind of genius that they transferred over from So-Co after he won some stupid science scholarship. Isn’t that right?” She looks Varian up and down, then makes a face as if to say, _really? That’s it?_

Varian swallows hard, nodding until he feels more like a bobblehead than a person. “T-that’s right.”

Otter doesn’t seem impressed. “So? You want me to be nice to him just because he’s some poor hick from South Corona?”

The girl raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “I’m just saying that our school has invested a _lot_ of money into his success. And who knows what might happen to your starter spot on the team if he decides to tell administration that you went and beat the shit out of him on his first day?”

This seems to make Otter reconsider his previous intentions of smearing Varian’s face against the linoleum. Finally, he lets go of Varian with a huff. “Whatever,” he says.

Otter smacks the books out of Varian’s hands and kicks them into a nearby row of lockers. “Next time, that’s your face, queer-ass,” he sneers. “Just in case you thought you were special.”

And just like that, the confrontation is over. Otter and the rest of the bystanders disperse. The girl begins to walk off as well, but Varian stops her before she can go.

“Um, by the way, Delilah-,” Varian manages to say.

The girl turns to face him, her nose prickled as if the very idea of regarding Varian as a person disgusts her. In an instant, Varian understands; just because this girl stuck up for him once doesn’t suddenly make them friends.

“It’s Caine to you, brainiac. And just a pointer—I’d get rid of the Minecraft shirt. It makes you look like a virgin.”

Varian flushes, awkwardly pulling his flannel shut over his chest. “Oh, um-,”

Before he can humiliate himself any further, Caine shoves past him and disappears down the hallway. Varian groans and smacks himself on the forehead with the butt of his palm.

 _“Stupid,_ ” he grumbles inwardly, getting on his hands and knees to gather up his notebooks and supplies.

The sound of a door opening causes Varian to glance up for the briefest of moments.

“Bye, Mr. Crenshaw! Make sure you tell your wife that those tarts were _amazing_.” A brunette girl in pink Chuck Taylors walks out of one of the nearby classrooms.

Varian tries to avert his eyes back to the floor, but it’s too late: she’s already noticed him.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” The girl exclaims, kneeling down next to Varian. She begins to pick up a stack of scattered papers without even being asked. From this angle, Varian can see her more clearly.

Varian notices her expressive green eyes and delicate features first. A patch of freckles dots her sun-kissed complexion just over the bridge of her nose, and she’s skinny enough for her collarbones to jut out above her shirt’s neckline as she bends over to help. She’s pretty—in a Miss-Honey-kindergarten-teacher-kind-of-way.

“Oh this?” Varian asks, “It’s nothing. I’m fine. I mean, I guess I’ve been better. But when you consider the um, the cosmic scale of things, I think I’ve been through worse.”

“Who did this to you?”

The bell above them rings. Varian curses mentally.

“Look, I really appreciate your concern, but I’m late for class and-,”

“Woah, there. Slow down. Where are you heading?”

“Um, Fletcher’s honors physics.”

“No way! Me too!” the girl says. “Don’t worry about Mr. Fletcher. I can get him to excuse us, no problem. I’ve had him for two semesters already, and I know he’ll understand.”

“I guess,” Varian says.

“Amazing! I’m Rapunzel, by the way,” she says.

Varian can’t help himself from releasing a slight chuckle. “Rapunzel? Like-,”

Rapunzel laughs too, but there’s a level of exasperation to it. “Like the fairy tale princess. Yes.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Varian says. “You probably get that a lot. I’m Varian. It’s nice to meet you.”

Rapunzel’s eyes shoot up into her forehead and she gasps. “You’re Varian? Like, Varian the freshman from South Corona who won the science scholarship? That’s _you?”_

Varian blushes, collecting the last of his books and picking them up. “Does everybody here know about that?” He asks.

Admittedly, he’s a little disappointed. On some level, Varian was hoping that he’d be able to be invisible at his new school. Back in South Corona, Varian had been singled out his entire life for his savant-like intelligence. He’d assumed that in transferring to a prestigious private school, he’d finally be able to be regarded as, well— _average._

Clearly that wasn’t in the books for him.

 _“Everyone’s_ been talking nonstop about you. It’s really not often that North Corona gives out full rides.” Rapunzel’s eyes widen. Quickly, she adds, “I’m not saying that you don’t deserve it! I’m sure you’re brilliant, Varian.”

If it were anyone else, Varian might have assumed that he was being patronized. But Rapunzel’s tone is so genuine and honest, that Varian can’t even imagine her saying something backhanded with it.

So, instead of a snappy comeback or something equally unpleasant, Varian only nods bashfully and says, “Thanks.”

He allows Rapunzel to ramble on as she leads him down the hall to their physics classroom. When they finally arrive, Varian can’t help but express some level of awe.

Unlike at his old public school, the architecture of North Corona high school is clean and modern. The lecture-styled physics classroom features high ceilings, theater-like seating, and large windows to let the sunlight in. Large canvas shades have been pulled down to cover them so that the projector can be seen.

Every pair of eyes in the classroom seem to turn to Rapunzel and Varian as they walk in. The professor, a short, balding man, squints at them.

“Well, isn’t it so nice of you two to show up!” he exclaims.

“Sorry, Mr. Fletcher,” Rapunzel says. “Varian’s new to the school. He got a little lost in the halls.”

At the mention of Varian’s name, Mr. Fletcher leans in with interest. He offers Varian a handshake and a smile, all the while staring at him like he’s some kind of lab rat. “So, you’re the genius from downstream that I’ve been hearing about all day.”

Varian blushes. “Well, _genius_ probably isn’t the word I’d-,”

“It’s great to meet you, Varian,” Mr. Fletcher says, “Since this is your first day of classes here, I’ll save you the tardy; however, I hope you and Rapunzel here get on well, because everybody else has already picked their lab partners for the semester.”

“Oh,” Varian says. “Okay.”

Mr. Fletcher shoos them both away. “Well, go on, then. Take your seats,” he says before turning back to the syllabus he’s projected onto the whiteboard.

The only open workbench left is at the back of the class, farthest from the door. As Varian and Rapunzel walk up to their seats, Varian offers her a meek, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Rapunzel asks.

“I mean, you don’t get to be partners with your friends now because you were helping me, which kind of sucks,” Varian explains. He sets his things down on the workbench and plops down into his plastic seat. A boy in front of them passes back two paper syllabuses.

“That’s okay,” Rapunzel says. “You know, I’m actually pretty excited to have you as my partner. I’ve had a few lab partners in the past cheat off my work, and for some reason, I feel like I won’t have to worry about that with you.”

A smile twitches at the corner of Varian’s lips. “No,” he says. “I guess not.”

* * *

As far as Varian is concerned, the only impractical thing about going to North Corona is the fact that it’s a forty-five-minute drive from his house.

He’s relieved when he gets to the railroad tracks that act as the border between the two cities, because it means that he’s only got fifteen more minutes left to go before he’s home.

It’s a strange experience going between the two cities. Varian releases a satisfied sigh as he leaves the cold, suburban perfection of North Corona and enters the familiar rural landscape of South Corona. Sure, objectively, it’s crappier—but it’s home. And Varian is proud of it.

Varian pulls his truck into the dirt driveway leading up to his house and parks it. The poor thing coughs and whines like an asthma patient before Varian shuts off the ignition.

Varian’s truck is a 1990 Chevy. The heat hasn’t worked in years, and the brakes tend to give out pretty often—honestly, any sane person would’ve sold it for scraps ages ago. But Varian loves it anyways.

He has this romantic idea of finding a girlfriend and taking her on a long drive away from city to lay in the bed of the truck and look at the stars together. And maybe there’s a little Johnny Cash playing softly over the car radio, and maybe the two of them talk about the meaning of life together. Something stupid like that.

Before going into his house, Varian checks the trashcans for any new traps. One of the many constants in his life has been his father, Quirin’s, long and ongoing war with the local racoons.

In all honesty, Quirin probably would have won a long time ago had Varian not gone out of the way to disarm each every one of the traps as soon as they were set out.

Today, there’s a pretty large spiky contraption sitting at the bottom of the trashcan, surrounded by a few rotted fruits and veggies. Varian picks up a heavy rock from the ground, and drops it into the trap, setting it off. Deep down, he knows that the raccoons _are_ pests—but he can’t help himself. Even the thought of an animal in pain upsets him.

With that done, he heads into his house.

“Varian, is that you?” Quirin calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me, Dad.”

“You better not have touched my new traps.”

“I didn’t.”

The creaky floorboards groan underfoot as Quirin emerges from the kitchen. He’s got his cheaters on—a dead giveaway that he’s in the middle of doing some kind of administrative work.

“How was your first day at North Corona, son?” Quirin asks.

“Good,” Varian says. “I um, I made a friend in my physics class.” Was it right to call Rapunzel a friend? Sure, she’d been nice to him—but that didn’t technically _mean_ anything.

Varian forces himself not to agonize over the semantics.

“Well, that’s great, Varian!” Quirin congratulates him warmly. “Hey, if you help me out with my spreadsheets, I’ll treat you to Annie’s tonight.”

“Sure,” Varian shrugs, dropping off his bookbag by the door.

He walks into the kitchen, where Quirin’s ancient laptop is sitting on their rickety oak table surrounded by a mass of receipts and pay stubs.

“Quarterly reviews?” Varian asks, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Gina keeps telling me to get a secretary. I told her I’d get one over my dead body. I hate the idea of it. It’s just so… impersonal.”

Varian rolls his eyes. “Dad, I practically _am_ your secretary.” 

“You’re my son,” Quirin corrects. “Now, read me the budget numbers, will you?”

Varian brings up the spreadsheet on Quirin’s laptop and begins to read off the numbers.

“Oh, boy,” Quirin sighs after Varian finishes nearly half an hour later.

“Not good?” Varian asks.

“Terrible. We’re going to have to cut some programs,” Quirin says.

Varian frowns. He scans the budget sheet. “Wait,” he says, “What if we proposed a new tax levy at the next town hall? Even a 2% increase would be more than enough to not make any cuts.”

“Let me see that,” Quirin says. He leans down and stares at the spreadsheet for a moment. Varian can see his father’s lips move as he crunches numbers in his head. Quirin stands up and nods in approval. “You may be on to something, son. You ought to run for mayor.”

“Run against my own father?” Varian asks incredulously. He shakes his head as if offended by the mere thought. “You’d never live down the crushing defeat.”

“I think I’d manage,” Quirin says. He claps Varian on the shoulder. “Alright, you want to get Annie’s?”

Varian nods.

* * *

Annie’s is a small diner located in the dead center of South Corona’s one and only shopping plaza. In typical diner fashion, it’s open 24/7 and serves everything from grilled cheese to clam chowder to surf n’ turf (though Varian wouldn’t suggest ordering seafood unless you’ve got enough money for new plumbing afterwards).

Varian and his father have been going to Annie’s since Varian was a kid. They’re such frequent patrons of the establishment that nearly every staff member addresses them by name when they walk in.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Annie herself greets Varian and Quirin at the door. She’s balancing a platter full of drinks in one hand and three plates on her arm. The first time Varian learned Annie’s age, he couldn’t believe it—there was just no way that an 80-year-old woman could have that much life still in her.

“Hi, Annie,” Quirin says politely. “Table for two. We’re celebrating.”

“Oh?” Annie asks. “What’s the occasion?”

“Varian just finished his first day at his new school,” Quirin says. “North Corona prep. I told you that he got a full ride for his presentation at the science fair last year, didn’t I?”

“Mm, he’s a smart one,” Annie agrees, grabbing two menus for them. “Just like his mother.”

“Oh, I know,” Quirin says. “He reminds me of her all the time.”

Varian smiles, flattered. People have been comparing him to his mother ever since he was a baby. It used to bother him, but ever since she passed, the compliment has been growing on him more and more.

Annie seats Quirin and Varian at a booth in the back of the diner. Shortly after, Annie’s daughter, Bella, comes to take their orders.

“Hi, Quirin. Hi, Varian,” Bella says, her sweet voice twinged with just a hint of a southern accent.

“Hi, Bella,” Quirin says. “Did you get a haircut?”

Bella grins, and it’s not lost on Varian the way she playfully smacks Quirin’s shoulder as an excuse to touch him. “Quirin, you are the only man who would notice that kind of thing. I did, by the way. Two whole inches.”

“It looks great,” Quirin smiles until his eyes crinkle at the edges. “We’ll have our usuals.”

“Be right back with that,” Bella says, winking as she heads back to the kitchen.

Varian waits until he’s out of earshot to speak up. “Come _on_ , Dad.”

“What?” Quirin asks.

“When are you going to ask her out?” Varian asks.

Quirin sighs. For the briefest moment, he looks like he’s somewhere else. “It’s just not the right time.”

Varian bites the inside of his cheek and knits his brow together. “Dad, I miss Mom, too. But it’s been four years now. And Bella makes you happy, so why wait any longer?”

Quirin reaches across the table to ruffle Varian’s hair. “You’re too young to understand. You’ll get it one day, son.”

“I guess.” Varian shrugs. “But what about when I go to college? You’re going to need someone to read off your quarterly reviews.”

“Hm, you’re right,” Quirin says. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll hire Bella to be my secretary?”

“Dad-,”

Varian is interrupted by the sound of the diner door opening. From across the diner, Varian can see two men in suits walk in. The hostess calls for Annie, who emerges from the kitchen to greet the men. Varian can’t read lips for the life of him, but he can tell that whatever they’re talking about—it isn’t pleasant.

“Suits,” Bella says contemptuously, dropping Varian and Quirin’s meals in front of them. “Don’t I hate them.”

“What do they want?” Varian asks.

“They’ve been here every other week trying to come up with some new wager to buy the diner with. They want to bulldoze it to build a frozen yogurt shop.”

“In South Corona?” Varian’s left eyebrow raises. A frozen yogurt shop seems like something that would belong in a college-town; not in a place like South Corona, where there are more cows than people.

“You heard those rumors about the acquisition, haven’t you?” Bella asks.

“Let’s not spread gossip,” Quirin warns. “South Corona isn’t going anywhere.”

Bella clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Just don’t lose the next election. I heard Andrew’s making the acquisition a big part of his platform.”

“I’m not losing to that college dropout punk,” Quirin promises.

“I know, honey. I know.”

With that, Bella walks away to help some other customers.

Quirin sighs. “Looks like we just can’t catch a break, huh, son?”

Varian glances between the suits and his father. Slowly, he shakes his head. “Guess not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Tumblr: Alche-Max  
> Instagram: Castle_LC
> 
> I follow the tags: #AndMaybeWe'llBeFine and #AMWBF!


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